


Room Service

by Soaring_Ren (Robin_Knight)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Friends to Lovers, M/M, References to Addiction, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-27 15:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10811697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Knight/pseuds/Soaring_Ren
Summary: Coran knew something was wrong.There was something in how Lance spoke and how he acted. It was enough for Coran to forge a plan to help the younger man, and - with time - create a friendship that would support Lance through the worst. Coran would save him.





	1. Chapter 1

“I – er – need a room.”

Coran looked over the young man. He wore jeans that were ill fitted; they bunched up around the slip-on sneakers, which did little to complement his otherwise fine figure, and his once white t-shirt was aged grey over time. The green jacket over his outfit bore a white hood, so that – all in all – he looked far from fashionable and what Coran would term as ‘scruffy’. He stood out in an otherwise fine establishment. He did not belong in the hotel.

Coran felt his expression fall in response; his smile weakened in pity, while his purple eyes softened into a half-lidded look, and – as the lines upon his face deepened – he blushed a little to realise his age in comparison to the lad. He spread callused fingers upon the fine polished counter, as he focussed solely upon the other man. The young figure looked uncomfortable under scrutiny. He hopped from foot to foot, with brown-skinned hands shoved into his pockets and plump lips pursed into a pout.

“I can go elsewhere,” said the man. “If it’s a problem.”

A few of the other guests stared from within the lobby. The hotel only took the very best from interstellar travellers, which typically meant ‘rich’ and with ‘status’, and it shone in every last detail of both the property and its clientele. Coran saw a Galra businessman bare his mouth into a ‘smile’, which was instead a warning gesture and a territorial one to boot, and he spotted a pair of Earthling women draped in designer dresses and holding two champagne flutes in their manicured hands. Truth be told, it technically _was_ a ‘problem’.

The man’s brown hair was mussed, while his blue eyes were bloodshot, and Coran couldn’t quite put a pin in why he would want a room in such a place. He knew better than to judge from appearance. The muttered ‘drug dealer’ from a passing client caused Coran to narrow his gaze, as he made a mental note to spit in their drink later, and he let out an audible exhale of breath through his nose. Coran slid the registration form across the desk.

“We serve _all_ folks here,” said Coran loudly. “Everyone is welcome!”

The passing client huffed in disgust and vanished. Coran leaned over the desk to make sure he was out of earshot, but he had headed into the recently refurbished bar where Shiro would have the patience to deal with any ill tempers and prejudices. There was a faint smile on the young man’s lips, as he ran a hand over the back of his neck, and he looked down at the paper with a nervous flicker to his eyes. Coran smiled as warm as he could manage. He held out a fountain pen in a gloved hand, which the young man ignored with a blush.

“I think I’ve made a mistake,” muttered the man.

“Nonsense, my boy!” Coran placed the pen upon the paper. “I once worked for royalty itself; _true_ class comes from how one composes oneself, knowing circumstance of birth is just that . . . _circumstance_. Those that earn their worth know that money fleeting. Any one of these people could easily be in the gutter tomorrow. Try not to let their judgements upset you, eh?”

“It’s – It’s not that.” Lance’s eyes shimmered and his lip trembled. “This is super embarrassing, but I’d saved for ages to spend a night here! I – I thought I’d had enough, but I’m still short and I don’t think I can afford it and I’m really sorry for wasting your time!”

“Well, that’s why we have the friends-and-family discount.”

“But – But you don’t even _know_ me.”

Coran pursed his lips. He felt his moustache brush against his lower lip, as a sign that it was time to trim it back to an appropriate length, and he looked down over the counter to double-check that the young man wasn’t a long-stay guest. There were no bags. A sinking feeling overcame Coran, until he grew dizzy and took a hold of the edge of the counter in a tight grip, and – as he looked into those blue eyes – he forced himself to smile as brightly as possible under the strained encounter. He gave a mock salute and placed hands on his hips.

“A stranger is just a friend you’ve yet to make,” chirped Coran.

There was a soft laugh from the younger man, who looked again to the form. Coran spun the paper around and halved the price with the fountain pen, before he made a note at the bottom of the page and signed to authorise the change, and – as he turned the paper back – the man sniffed and removed his hand to take the pen. Coran watched at his pocket. There was a bulge there was strange in shape and looked to be of some value to the man.

“Just one night –” Coran glanced at the writing – “Lance?”

“That’s all I need,” muttered Lance. “Thanks.”

Coran took payment with a smile.

* * *

The bar was busy that night.

Coran peaked his head inside; there were various hotel guests, as well as those solely there for the reputation of the drinks on offer, and Shiro – whose wide smile lifted the corners of his facial scar just a smidge – stood behind the bar with a shaker in hand. The chandelier above sent a cascade of shimmering lights down upon the clientele, while candlelight flickered upon each individual table, and the scent of galactic cuisine gathered in the air.

It took a while to navigate through the room. There was a constant bustle of movement, while continuous chatter echoed over the music from the piano player in the far corner, and it was a fight just to reach the bar to be in hearing distance of Shiro. Coran sagged in relief. He took a seat on one of the stools and smiled as a small tumbler of whiskey and ice was slid perfectly before him. Shiro waved from down the counter with his cybernetic arm. Shiro then winked and walked down to Coran with a casual pace that betrayed the busy nature of the bar.

There was a mark on Shiro’s neck, which brought a blush to Coran’s cheeks. He knew the popularity of the bartender, who was oblivious to the concept of ‘prejudice’ and friendly to all people, and he wondered who was the lucky gal or guy to be on the receiving end of what was likely the most popular person in the entirety of the hotel. Shiro leaned on the counter with hands clasped together, as his tuft of white hair fell about his face. He asked:

“Is Allura on the night shift?”

Coran looked about the bar, in search for a familiar face. The guests appeared happy for the most part, while the large terrace doors opened out on a beautifully decorated patio, and – under the light of the full moon and blazing stars – he caught sight of the lake in the distance, where the waters shimmered with soft movements. There was nothing out of the ordinary, along with no causes for concern. He bit his lip and shook his head.

“Hmm? Oh, yes,” said Coran.

“You seem a bit distracted,” observed Shiro. “Everything okay?”

“I guess I’m a wee bit worried.” Coran sighed, as he sipped his drink. “Did you come across a young lad in here, around twenty in Earth years? He looked every bit an Earthling. He had those _teeny_ ears that look – well – a little bit hideous. Honestly, I don’t know how you hear anything with ears that small! He would have stood out. He looks a little . . . ah . . .”

“‘Common’?” Shiro hissed and narrowed his eyes. “That’s the word Sendak used. Yeah, he sat at the end of the bar and drank until I had to cut him off. He went upstairs when someone mistook him for a hooker. I wanted to ask you about him, to be honest; I got the impression that he’s a good guy, seemed very earnest and polite, but I _know_ that look, Coran. It’s the same look I saw on fellow prisoners before the Galra Empire was defeated. It’s pure despair.”

“Aye, that’s what I worried about, too. He checked in with no luggage, said he’d even saved up all his money for just one night here, and he looked in a pretty bad way. Do you think I ought to go check on him? You know, complementary room service?”

“It couldn’t hurt. It’d put my mind at rest, at least.”

There was a roar of laughter. Coran looked down the bar to see Sendak with a small group of Galra, where the two other men seemed to hang on his every word, and – as Sendak shot a look down towards them, with a yellow eye narrowed and cybernetic eye on show – Shiro clenched his fists and bit deep into his lip. The Galra man was dressed in typical attire for his people, although rid of the uniform that once marked him as an enemy of the Voltron Alliance, and he held his empty glass high in the air and waved it in a slow manner.

“Barkeep,” called Sendak. “Give me a sloe comfortable screw.”

Shiro tilted his head back, as he drew in a deep breath. He scrunched his eyes closed, while a few seconds turned into half-a-minute, and there was laughter from the men around Sendak, as the leader of their group smirked with a closed mouth. Shiro snapped back to reality. He made the drink with an incredible expertise. It was finished within a matter of seconds; Shiro slid it down the bar, where a furred hand caught the glass and canine teeth flashed at him.

“Last time he asked for a ‘leg spreader’,” muttered Shiro.

“Ah, well, least he’s learning mixology.”

Sendak downed the contents. Coran knew well that Galra tastes were not similar to human tastes, so much so that the alcoholic beverage would be disgusting at best and make him sick at worst, and so the older man ordered his drinks solely to cause discomfort and establish dominance. He watched how Shiro avoided his gaze, while Sendak never took his eyes from the white-haired male, and – as fur bristled and ears pricked up – Sendak gave an open-mouthed smile that spoke greatly of aggression. Coran sighed and muttered:

“You have bad taste in men, lad.”

There was total silence from Shiro. He placed a hand on his hip, while the other came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and Coran – for the first time – noticed the shape of the love-bite was the distinctive shape of a Galra set of teeth. Shiro pointed firmly to the doors with his cybernetic hand, while he kept his eyes closed and refused to look at Coran. There was further laughter from the Galra men, as Shiro clenched his jaw and said firmly:

“Go check on the kid, Coran.”

* * *

“Complementary room service!”

There was a shuffle from the room beyond. Coran waited patiently, as he kept a gloved hand upon the rail of the cart. The windows at the far end of the corridor allowed in a great deal of natural light, letting the rays of the moon cast a silvery glow about the carpet and walls, and the steel of the cart looked almost like a precious metal. There was a strong aroma from Hunk’s expert cooking skills, which made Coran’s mouth water and stomach growl.

It took a few minutes for the door to open. The sight of Lance caused his heart to sink, as his smile faltered and his shoulders slumped, but – seeing the younger man in such a state – he resolved himself to do all that was possible to ease his soul. Lance stood hunched over in just his t-shirt and a worn pair of shorts, while his clothes were strewn about the room in a haphazard manner, and he smelled of alcohol and second-hand smoke. Coran looked over his shoulder to see a bottle of medicine on the bedside table, next to a switchblade.

“I didn’t order any room service,” muttered Lance.

“Don’t worry, it’s complementary, old chap,” chirped Coran.

Lance furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side. It was difficult to comprehend such a reaction, but he saw how Lance looked to the covered plates and licked instinctively at his lips, and it became clear that he was conflicted. Those ribs were distinctly visible from beneath his t-shirt, but Lance fidgeted with his hands and looked forlornly away with an audible sigh. Coran pursed his lips in thought and added:

“It’s – ah – free.”

“No way!” Lance smiled. “You’re kidding?”

“Nope, it’s all yours. Here, let me.”

Coran pushed past him with the trolley. He stopped just beside the dining table, which sat before large bay windows that overlooked the golf course, and jumped a little when the room door clicked closed. It was clear Lance wasn’t used to luxury. The last time someone closed the door on Coran was to make a proposition, but – judging from the yawn and hungry expression levelled solely upon the food – Lance held no devious intentions.

There was a rustle of movement. Lance walked over to the trolley. He lifted the lid to a platter, only to uncover a roast dinner, and – with shimmering eyes – he took the plate and walked over to the bed. Coran furrowed his brow; he had to bite his tongue from making any criticism, as the young man sat cross-legged at the head of the bed and ate with the plate upon his lap, and yet it was impossible to say a word against the behaviour. Lance looked too happy on seeing his food. Those brown cheeks flushed dark, as he stabbed at his plate.

“When you said ‘complementary’,” said Lance, “I figured you really meant ‘complimentary’. I saw your room service menus and I was _really_ hoping to get something to eat, but – ah – it was over ten dollars just for a sandwich, so . . . I figured I’d just go without.”

“Ah, I’m the same way myself,” replied Coran with a half-smile. “I tried lowering the prices a while back, but we found that a lot of our clients stopped ordering any food. It was our Allura who worked out the problem; they assumed cheap food meant bad quality, even though it was the same dollar bread and the same supermarket cheese on the fifteen-dollar sandwich. They don’t seem to realise cost is no indication of quality.”

“Yeah, tell me about it! My friend works as a chef here, so I learnt all sorts of tricks from him over the years. He used to get the most _amazing_ cuts of meat for prices that seemed too good to be true, while some of our roommates would just sneer at the price and buy stuff way overpriced instead. Hunk’s food always tasted much better.”

“Ah, he taught you all about cooking, did he?”

“Yup! Like, I learnt to cook massive meals and freeze the rest, so that way I’d always have something ‘instant’ on hand for lazy days.” Lance smiled and picked at his food. “I learnt a pinch of sugar on your fried onions makes them easier to digest, and a pinch of salt in cake mixture gives it an extra ‘zing’. I even learnt to use melted butter in omelettes.”

Coran smiled weakly in response. It was as if no one had ever let Lance speak before, as if he were desperate to get out a slew of words to the first person that would listen, afraid that – should he not say them now – they would be forever silenced. Coran poured water into a glass and added ice cubes; he walked over to Lance and placed the cup onto the bedside table, before he slid the switchblade into his sleeve. Lance ate with a hum of contentment.

He moved around the bed to the desk opposite, where he slid the knife into his pocket. Lance appeared not to notice, and – with some luck – would blame its absence upon his drunken state, but Coran would still need to get the sleeping tablets out of harm’s way. He watched as the young man ate with great speed; Coran noticed how attractive he looked, enough that he could imagine many people easily returning any flirtations, and he wondered how a man in the prime of life could possibly want to harm himself. Coran asked in a whisper:

“Does Hunk know you’re planning on killing yourself?”

Lance dropped his fork. It clattered onto the plate, echoing about the silent room. The rooms were soundproofed for the most part. The only sounds were that of the birds outside, along with music from the bar, and Coran noticed – as he tilted his head – that the bathroom window were ajar. There were an array of various face creams and moisturisers upon the side, most of which were often ignored by the guests, but it looked like Lance sampled each and every one. Coran rested his hands on the desk, as he ran his fingertips over the edge.

The food on the plate remained half-finished; Lance placed the plate onto the bedspread before him, before he crossed his arms over his chest and hugged at his body. He looked fragile and younger than his years, while his blue eyes looked over the plate with a half-interested gaze, and Coran – as he bit his lip in a nervous manner – came forward to sit at the foot of the bed. Lance looked up with watery eyes and let out a shuddered breath.

“I saw the bottle on the bedside table,” explained Coran.

“Oh,” said Lance.

“Tell me, lad, if you’ve already taken any tablets.”

Lance shook his head. He buried his face into the crook of his knees, while he breathed in a loud and staggered manner, and soon – as Coran looked to him with a sympathetic smile and eyes filmed with unshed tears – he realised that Lance’s body shook with his cries. The young man was visibly distressed, something that broke Coran and forced him to fight his instinct to hold the virtual stranger, and so he bit into his lip and looked about the room for hope of something to distract from the pain. He said in a low voice:

“You know, I tried to kill myself once.”

“Yeah?” Lance sniffed. “What happened? Er, Coran, right?”

“Coran is correct.” Coran adjusted his nametag. “Coran, Coran, the gorgeous man! You wouldn’t know it to look at me, as I hide a lot of it behind a smile, but it’s easier to smile and have others smile than to worry them about my problems. They depend on me, so I have to be strong for them. I can’t be the one to make them frown.”

“Yeah . . . I used to get told off for being over-cocky, but it always hurt when they’d say that, because I was just trying not to worry anyone and – I don’t know – fit in, I guess. Everyone else on my course _earned_ their places there, but I only got in as the college prodigy dropped out. Pidge went on to be a computer engineer, and then Hunk dropped out to become a chef, and I was just this – this – this constant failure who could never compete. The third wheel.”

“Ah, you were the ‘joker’ of the group, too, eh?” Coran rubbed at his moustache with a chuckle. “I’d used to hate that. They’d always think I was joking when I was serious, or serious when I was joking! It was always so lonely. It felt like any word spoken was just a reminder of how alien I was even among my own friends.”

“Oh, and they were all super talented, too, I bet!” Lance chuckled and shrugged. “I always feel like every time I take a step forward, they’ve taken three, and I can never catch up. It doesn’t matter how fast I run, because they just get further and further away.”

“But no one ever dares to wait for you.”

“No, because what’s the point?”

Lance wiped at his nose. He smiled at Coran, as if seeing him for the first time, and picked at the roast potatoes with both hands. Those long legs returned to a criss-crossed position, while he slid the plate midway between them, and – as Coran looked to him – it was clear that he intended to share. Coran picked at the cauliflower; he fought back a tear at the sudden bout of homesickness, as the vegetable reminded him so much of one used in Altean cuisine. He forgot the name. There was no one else to ask to remember. Lance whispered:

“So why’d you . . .?”

“Try to kill myself,” finished Coran.

He took a bite of the cauliflower and thought to his mother’s meals. The name of the Altean vegetable was on the tip of his tongue . . . to forget the name was to forget a part of his culture, it was to forget a part of _them_ . . . he drew in a deep breath and exhaled. He knew the pain of a constant smile, as well as the frustration in always being the butt of a joke. Lance was owed honesty; Coran turned to rest one leg on the bed, as he looked directly to Lance.

“Gambling debts,” admitted Coran.

“You seem pretty well off now.”

“Oh, well, money comes and goes.” Coran winked and tilted his head. “It also _stays_ pretty well, so long as you have no access to the bank accounts. Allura – that’s the owner of this hotel – gives me a good wage to act as the manager, but all financial decisions are entirely her responsibility, which is exactly the way that I like it. It’s better that way.”

“Huh, I thought you were the owner when I saw you,” said Lance.

“Nope, not me! See, I was the royal advisor to the King of Altea, which was a position given to the first-born men in my family for generations before me, and my grandfather – an excellent man who always exuded love – built the very castle that Allura later turned into this same hotel. We had a good life until the war. The Resistance managed to overthrow the Galra Empire, creating the Voltron Alliance, but by then everyone we knew . . .

“My people were gone. My family, friends, and co-workers . . . they were gone, along with my entire culture and planet, and there was _nothing_ left that I could call ‘mine’. I was lost. I still feel that homesickness to this day, dreaming of a home that’s just dust and memories, and I couldn’t even grieve. I had to be strong for Allura. I had to be strong for her.”

They sat in silence for a long minute. Coran looked to the wall above the bed, where a painting sat in full glory and the centrepiece for the room, and – upon the canvas – was a beautiful landscape of the Altean castle in the midst of the capitol city. The sky was unlike anything on any other planet, while the beautiful fields of flowers could be seen in the distance, and the very attire of their people stood as a stark reminder of the differences between his home and this new planet. Coran looked away as a tear fell from his eye.

“I used to gamble a wee bit growing up, but Alfor would always bail me out.” Coran blushed and scratched at his cheek. “I didn’t realise how much I depended upon him, until one night I woke up bloody and beaten in an alley, and I realised that the only way I’d ever repay my debts owed was _probably_ through a life insurance policy. I saw no way out.

“I had nothing else to live for, in any case. Everything was gone. I – er – may have had a _teensy_ bit of a gambling addiction; I used to love the adrenaline rush on the throw of the dice, felt like I was really alive, and even the failures felt – well – _good_. The disappointment was a reminder that I was still here . . . my people may have been gone, but _I_ was there, and there was always the knowledge that the next time I could win. It’d be so easy, too.

“Well, Allura found my goodbye notes.” Coran finally allowed a frown to cross his features, as he hung his head. “I saw the agony on her face. It was the knowledge I was going to leave her, when I was the only tie she had to our people and the only support she had in this world. I was like a father to her. I knew I couldn’t leave her, not after seeing her cry.”

“So what did you do?”

“Allura helped me get back on my feet. I went to counselling for my addiction, while together we took out various loans and made strict budgets and brokered deals with my debtors, and – eventually – I was able to pay off everything I owed and even made a small nest-egg. I still gamble a wee bit, but only ever with friends and for candy. I actually have a whole cupboard filled with chocolate! I’m the champ at chocolate poker!”

Lance smiled again, as he scratched at his neck. He looked down upon the plate, before taking another bite with his hands, and – despite it breaking every rule of etiquette taught to him over the years – Coran followed suit and took a bite in turn. It felt good to be in the company of a man that understood his pain. There were very few who had been pushed to the brink of death, who felt so hopeless that the despair turned inward, and his previous spark of loneliness was eased by an inch. Coran asked warmly:

“So what about you?”

There were various cheers from outside. The two men looked to the _en suite_ door, where the window allowed in a cool breeze, and Coran raised an eyebrow in suspicion of the drama that inevitably occurred without his presence. Allura would no doubt see to any rowdy behaviour, as would Shiro in the worst case, but a part of Coran suspected their bartender to be the main cause of said cheers. He shook the concerns from his head, as he looked back to Lance and focussed upon Lance. The younger man broke the silence with a small voice.

“I – I guess I just feel . . . alone.”

“You’ll only be more alone in death,” whispered Coran.

“Yeah, but the pain will stop, won’t it?” Lance furrowed his brow and shrugged. “I have an amazing family, but it’s always been difficult growing up. I’m biracial, which wasn’t much of a problem, but with half my family in Cuba and half my family in the States -? I feel like I’m always leaving someone behind. There’s also that – well – I know they _love_ me, but I sometimes wonder if they _like_ me, you know? It’s just I’m . . . the odd one out.

“My parents and grandparents adore me, but I guess I worry that I’m just a nuisance for everyone else, and then I got in at the Garrison! You should have _seen_ the surprise on all their faces, which was so amazing, only I – I just –! I guess I failed . . . I only made it as a cargo pilot, then Keith dropped out and I got his place, but my grades . . . I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, lad. Finish the thought. I won’t judge you.”

“Well, it feels like they were proud of me for _achieving_ something, only now I’ve dropped out of the Garrison and what do I have to show? My friends have all gone on and made something of themselves, while I’m just working as a waiter in the local café, and my tips are barely making me enough money to get by. I feel like this big no one. Like, Pidge is letting me crash at her place, but now I’m just this . . . parasite. I’d be better off dead.”

Coran flinched. He knew that fear well enough. The painting upon the wall was visible in the corner of his eyes, while the food upon the plate tasted bitter upon his tongue, and he looked again to the bathroom windows and let out a long sigh. There was a bitter regret that he would never be able to repay Alfor; the only relief came from the realisation that Allura was still within his life, and through her lived a part of her father. Coran smiled to himself, before he stood and collected the stray pieces of clothing from the floor.

He folded them in a small pile upon a nearby chair, noticing that the only personal belongings appeared to be a worn wallet and a crumpled photograph of a large family unit. Coran smiled at the paper. There was something nice in seeing so many loved ones gathered together, as memories of his past came to the forefront of his mind, and he knew he owed it to these people – whomever they may be – to protect their son from harm.

“You can turn things around,” said Coran.

“Yeah? How?”

“Well, first of all, a person’s not determined by what they contribute to society.” Coran furrowed his brow and brought a curled finger to his lip. “Your worth is more what you contribute to the lives of others; I’m sure you’ve made your friends laugh when they’re sad, or cooked for your siblings when your mother was sick, or even brought a gift for a co-worker when they’ve suffered a tragedy. The good deeds are how you measure worth.”

“I don’t know,” muttered Lance. “I just know they’d be better off without me. If I weren’t here, they’d grieve for a moment and get on with their lives. They all have jobs and families and partners, and I’m just this loser who struggles and fails and jokes it all off.”

“Okay, then let me do for you what Allura did for me!” Coran winked and gave a thumb up. “If I can come back from the brink, anyone can! It’s about time I gave something back. I’ll tell you what, my boy, we’ll have a sleepover tonight and tomorrow we’ll start planning for your future. You tell me what you want from life and together we’ll get it.”

“It’s not that easy, Coran,” muttered Lance. “It’s just not.”

“Why _can’t_ it be that easy?”

Coran fussed about with the items in the room. It was a leftover habit from Altea; it was easier to keep busy by cooking or cleaning, something to distract his mind and detract from the concern of debts owed, and he looked to the information booklet upon the desk. The various papers listed everything from local amenities to important numbers, and – on the front few pages – there was also the price list for all their luxury services. Coran carefully adjusted the booklet until it was parallel to the edge of the desk.

“Stay here for the week,” he said.

Lance rolled his eyes and swung his legs out of the bed; he walked towards Coran with hands clasped behind his head, as he looked down to the booklet and took it into his long fingers, before he flicked through with a casual observance. The pages rustles with every flip, until Lance sighed and gently gave it back to Coran. He shook his head and tears appeared to gather in the corners of his eyes, as he bit his lip and looked away.

“I can’t afford that,” said Lance.

The music stopped from the bar. There followed the sound of muttered complaints, along with the loud and carrying sound of Allura’s voice, and Coran felt the phone in his pocket buzz to life in response to whatever unfolded below. He ignored the text message and instead took a pen from the desk drawer; upon the booklet he wrote out a long number and a four-digit password, which the staff would inevitably ask about the second Lance tried to claim that Coran had given him anything for free. Coran slid the booklet back to Lance.

“My treat,” chirped Coran. “You can get the full luxuries on the house. The in-room masseuse, the steam-room, the room service -! In fact, that’s my personal number, so any problems can get immediately resolved! If you’re going to kill yourself regardless, may as well go out happy and with a bang, but – if you have _any doubts at all_ – let this be a reminder that sometimes good things _can_ still happen to you.”

“I – I’ll never be able to pay you back! Seriously, this guy in the bar offered me four-hundred bucks for a blowjob and I nearly agreed . . . I had to totally pause to think about it, because that covers my room and board at Pidge’s house _and_ my groceries _and_ my phone bill! I’m not saying I _would_ have said yes, but I can’t even picture that much money . . .”

“Well, you are certainly very attractive, but I want to say right now that I do not want _anything_ in response except maybe a smile.” Coran raised his hands in mock surrender. “If you need one reason not to kill yourself, I have the perfect one, too!”

“Huh? Okay, what’s the perfect reason not to do it?”

Coran winked and placed a hand on his hip, while the other came up in the air to make an L-shape that meant ‘don’t worry’ in the Altean culture. The meaning seemed to vaguely translate on Earth as something similar, as Lance smiled and waited with a curious expression, and Coran perked up and moved both hands behind his back. He puffed out his chest and lifted his head high, as he said with a jovial tone:

“No one wants to rent a haunted room.”

Lance finally laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh, I call shotgun!”

Coran smiled at the younger man. The office was somewhat dreary; there was the sound of rain battering down against the windowpanes, while the thunder outside sent blasts of light throughout the small room, and the chill from outside was made all the worse by the loud howls of the wind. There was a wood-burning fire crackling in the corner, while several chairs had been carefully positioned around the flickering flames. It felt cosy, indeed.

Lance stood before the fire with hands upon his hips, as he lifted his chin high with a wide grin, and Coran – as he felt his heart skip slightly, and his eyes crinkle with his ever-present smile – could barely take his eyes away from his new friend. Shiro sighed from his chair, just to the side of the two men. He ran a cybernetic hand over his face and neck, as he looked up at Lance with a half-smile and quirked eyebrow, before he stood in turn and folded his arms across his chest with a shake of his head. The fire cast shadows upon them both.

The clipboard in Coran’s hands was awkward to hold. There was a crinkle of paper every time he flipped the page, while the needed inventory was damning to behold. They needed a substantial amount of various types of alcohol for the bar, along with various extras such as napkins and snacks, and Coran sighed at the frustration of their supplier being unable to access the hotel with the state of the roads. Shiro said in a firm voice:

“The alcohol run will be hard enough in this weather.”

“Well, he _did_ call shotgun,” said Coran.

“Damn straight, I did,” chirped Lance. “Besides, I know _the_ best shortcut! I’ve been coming here – what – every day for the past four months? I know these roads like the back of my hand. I can get you to the nearest shop in like half the time you could!”

“Lance, I trust you and you seem like a good man.” Shiro cocked his head and sighed. “This isn’t a sightseeing trip, but a necessary chore for work and business. I don’t mind you spending time here; it’s honestly been nice to see Coran so happy, and Hunk seems to appreciate the extra help in the kitchen. I just don’t think you should be calling shotgun when Coran and I need the van for work purposes. That’s all.”

“Hey, I just got promoted at work! Doesn’t that deserve a reward?” Lance crossed his arms and turned away with a pout. “I thought I was doing really well, too. I was in such a rough place a few months back, but now I’m manager at the restaurant and I’ve got my own apartment and I’m spending more time with friends, but . . . hey, no worries, right?”

“I appreciate all your progress, Lance, but this is _work_.”

“And I don’t work here, huh? I get it.”

Coran slumped his shoulders, as he saw Lance’s expression. Lance looked down with half-lidded eyes, as his folded arms fell until hands were pushed inside his pockets, and he kicked at the floor with an absent and half-hearted gesture. Coran sighed and walked beside him; he placed a hand upon the other’s shoulder, where he squeezed in a firm and reassuring manner, and he felt a flicker of relief when Lance smiled in response. There was another flash of lightning from outside. Shiro heaved a lot exhale of breath and muttered:

“You really know how to lay it on thick.”

The office grew warmer as the fire roared in the corner. Shiro threw back his head, as he looked to the ceiling with a sigh, and then waved a hand at Lance’s direction with a nod of acknowledgement and a purse of his lips. He headed out of the office, which left Lance with wide blue eyes and a bright smile. Lance held his hands high into excited fists, as he looked between Coran and the open door, before he asked in an excited voice.

“So does that mean I get shotgun?”

Coran chuckled to himself; he pat Lance upon his back, where his hand lingered for a brief second, and he realised that he had come to feel more than just friendship for the other man. The expression Lance wore was pure innocence, as the wide smile exposed his eyeteeth and puffed out his cheeks with a rosy hue. Coran softened his eyes and looked to Lance with a slight expectation, and – almost at once – the other man dropped his façade and allowed a slither of vulnerability to escape with a blush. The fire continued to crackle.

“Of course, lad,” said Coran. “I’d never say ‘no’ to you.”

* * *

“Are you jealous?”

Shiro smiled, as he slid a tumbler to Coran. The glass clinked with the sound of ice cubes, each one knocking against the sides of the tumbler with a gentle movement, and Coran watched the ripples of alcohol with slight disinterest. He wrapped both gloved hands around the outside, while he heaved a long sigh and fought the urge to take a sip. It would only take one sip to become one drink and one drink to become many drinks.

It was quiet in the bar that afternoon. The busy season was long over, while the locals rarely came to the bar before sundown, and there was only the faint sound of classical music from the speakers positioned just out of sight around the room. Sendak stood on the patio outside; there was an almost beautiful rustle of his fur as the wind blew around him, while his eyes would constantly turn inward to look across the bar to Shiro, and Coran guessed it was only a matter of time before there would either be a public fight or an overdue marriage.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Shiro,” chirped Coran.

Shiro shook his head with a chuckle. He looked over to Sendak, but soon looked back with a blush that caused Coran to smile. The two men sat in silence, until Shiro took a cloth from nearby and polished the bar, and Coran noted – as he cast a lazy eye about the room – how Lance kept to the far corner almost out of sight. The younger man rested a foot upon the piano stool, as one of the guests tried her hand at the keys. It was not an unpleasant sound, although clearly the work of an amateur, but it was hardly on par with their usual pianist.

The sound continued to tinkle throughout the bar, while Coran looked with soft eyes and a half-smile to Lance, and – as he watched Lance gesture and smile at the young woman – he noticed the brief gazes sent in his direction. It was too difficult to dare to hope; Coran looked away and watched Shiro fuss about the bar, as he nursed his drink and fought the urge to glance back to Lance. The silence was broken when Shiro observed:

“You hate when Lance flirts with them.”

“It’s his right,” mumbled Coran.

“He’s coming to terms with his sexuality.” Shiro ran his arm across his forehead, as he slammed the cloth down onto the bar with a sigh. “It’s not easy for him; he thinks of himself as a ladies man, hasn’t seemed to realise that bisexuality is a valid thing, and he’s debating whether he’s gay or straight and he’s confused. That’s all. You’ve made him think.”

“Ah, so he’s overcompensating with the ladies, eh?” Coran chuckled and shrugged. “That’s an astute observation, my boy, but it relies on the assumption I made him feel _something_. I don’t think a man my age will have him questioning his sexuality, Shiro.”

“It’s amazing how similar you guys are. You really don’t see it, do you? It’s part of why – even when we’re all distracted or busy – you and _only_ you realise when Lance is hurting and in need of support. You two have the same insecurities and the same issues. He has a kindred spirit in you; you appreciate his bad puns and jokes, just like you know what it feels like to doubt yourself, and – to be honest – you’re not all that bad looking. Honest.”

“I – er – appreciate your kindness, lad, but I’m his senior and –”

“Trust me. You’re middle-aged, not over-the-hill.”

Shiro rested a hand on the bar; the other hand came to find a place on his hip, as he leaned over and looked down at Coran with a smirk that lifted the corner of his mouth. He kept his eyes locked upon Coran’s, as if to emphasise the seriousness of his statement, but Coran could only think about how toned those muscles were beneath that skin-tight shirt and how confident the other man looked with every smile. Shiro was the kind of man to get any man or woman, whereas Coran was well aware of the lines of age across his face.

“You know,” said Shiro, “I never thought Sendak and I would work, either.”

The music from the piano grew more fluid, as the young lady laughed and slid across the stool to make way for Lance to sit beside her, and – as Coran squinted his eyes and tried to avoid looking directly upon them – he looked to see Sendak looking straight at them. Sendak looked less than amused to see his lover in such close proximity to another man, but Shiro did little to either antagonise or humour him. Shiro kept his exact position, as Coran asked:

“Is that – ah – official now?”

“Well, it’s no longer a secret,” said Shiro. “Look, it’s been ten months since Lance came to this hotel, right? He’s turning himself around, but he’s still struggling to communicate how he feels and he’s acting out accordingly. Sendak -? Well, Sendak was the same in a way. It was rough between us, but he’s prone to acting out just like Lance. The only difference is he prefers to make an ass of himself and throw around insults.”

Coran laughed and said with a smile: “I will admit that I didn’t think you two would last. It’s easy to see how Hunk and Shay can weather any storm, but you and Sendak are such opposites that it really makes you think twice! I guess if you two can work things out, anything in this world is possible. Still, I am a _wee_ bit too old for Lance.”

“He talks about you all the time. He loves the face products you recommend, just like how he’s sewing his own Altean nightwear to match yours, and he’s even getting Pidge to teach him Altean so you won’t be alone . . . says it’ll keep your culture alive.”

“He – He would do all that for me?”

Coran lifted his tumbler to his lips. He looked deep into the amber liquid, desperate to try and hide the tears that pricked the corner of his eyes, and he smiled absently as he cast a surreptitious glance over to his younger friend by the piano. There was a flutter in his heart, as he drew in a staggered breath and felt his cheeks flush. Coran knew how difficult Altean was to learn, and – in all honesty – he had expected the language to die with him and Allura, and yet there was hope that some part of his culture would live on beyond them.

He watched as Lance took basic lessons from the woman. Those fingers strolled across the keys, as blue eyes focussed upon the sheet music, and then – as if by some unseen force – Lance glanced over and locked eyes with Coran. They smiled on sight of one another. Lance softened his gaze and let his head cock to the side, until he turned back with a blush and stuttered in response to the young woman something incomprehensible.

“He’s a good man,” said Coran.

“Like attracts like,” replied Shiro. “You’re a good man, too.”

“Do you think I’d – ah – stand a chance?”

Shiro slid across another glass of liquid courage. Coran barely noticed as Sendak took a seat two stools down from him, where he reached across the bar and poured himself a refill, and it was only when Shiro hissed in frustration that Coran noticed the presumptive behaviour. He smiled absently, as he realised how at home Sendak had become in their hotel. He admired the love between the two men. Shiro reached across to place a hand on Coran’s shoulder, where he squeezes and said in a warm and reassuring voice:

“He won’t say no to you.”

* * *

It was a beautiful sight.

The lake was still that morning, while the sun reflected from its surface. There scattered an array of lights from the water, as the red sky turned slowly blue, and Coran smiled absently as he thought back to the bodies of water upon his home planet. Earth was far unlike Altea. It was difficult to hold back the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he knew that he would never trade the cool breeze and white clouds for anything else in the galaxy.

He let gloved hands rest on the edge of the bench. The intricate patterns upon the stone provided a minor distraction; he relished the feeling of the sun upon pale skin, and barely noticed the sound of footsteps coming towards him. It was a rhythmic sound. There was a steady crunch of leaves underfoot, followed by the rustle as they were kicked about with each step, and – as they came to a stop just beside him – Coran blinked away the strong sunlight and turned his head to look upon his new guest. It was a sight more beautiful than the lake.

Lance stood with a blush to his cheeks.

He wore a blue-and-white outfit that suited him well, inspired by Altean attire and sewn by Lance some weeks previous, and the fabric hugged his body in a perfect manner. The breeze caught his brown hair and ruffled it into a messy style, while he fidgeted with his hands before his body with awkward movements. Coran patted a spot on the bench. Lance perked up with a bright smile and licked at his lips, before he slid next to Coran and looked out over the lake with eyes blinking in a rapid manner. He appeared nervous.

“Allura gave me the job,” chirped Lance.

Coran looked to Lance, who gazed into the distance with a deeper blush. The past year had flown by almost like a dream, so that – any time Lance spoke – Coran was afraid he would waken and find that his beloved gone, and his greatest fear was that someone so perfect could only exist within the confines of his imagination. He still feared the inevitable admission of love, but every moment of friendship with Lance was cherished.

The hotel was clear as day in the distance. He saw a familiar purple figure upon Shiro’s balcony, where he knew the white-haired man would be sleeping after a long night shift, and a few rooms down he spotted a twitch at Allura’s curtains. Coran smiled; the young woman would be eagerly awaiting the latest gossip upon his return, something that made him chuckle to himself, and he tore his eyes away to look upon Lance’s expression. There was such hope in those blue eyes that it brought tears to the corners of his eyes.

“I knew you’d get the job, lad,” said Coran.

“You know, I wasn’t too sure at first.” Lance shrugged his shoulders. “I thought Allura might hire someone with more experience. I just can’t believe it! This time last year I was a total _nobody_ ; I was working a dead-end job, I didn’t think I would ever go anywhere, but you gave me a plan and something to aim for. I went from a waiter to assistant manager to manager of the restaurant, and now I’m manager for the hotel! Thanks, Coran. It’s all down to you.”

“Ah, not at all, Lance. It’s all because of _you_. Depression is – ah – well . . . depression is the hardest battle that one ever has to face, but you faced that battle head on and came through to the other side. There are a lot of people who struggle to fight, let alone to make such strides in their recovery, and I’m proud of you, Lance. I’m proud of your strength.”

“I nearly didn’t come through it, though. There were days where I saw how popular Keith was, or when I saw how Hunk was doing so well with love, and I guess I kept comparing myself to them . . . it’s hard to take a step forward when everyone else is taking five.”

“Try not to compare yourself to anyone else,” said Coran.

He reached out and took a hold of Lance’s shoulder. Coran allowed his hand to linger, before it slid down and rubbed circles upon a firm shoulder blade. The touch reassured Lance; he let his shoulders sag and fell forward with forearms rested upon his arms, and – for the first time – he looked to Coran and smiled a smile so warm that it crinkled the corners of his eyes. He parted his legs a little more, until his knee touched upon Coran’s. It was Coran’s turn to blush. The silence between them was comfortable and lingered for a brief minute.

“You can only be _you_.” Coran smiled. “You’re one of a kind.”

Lance smiled and watched Coran with half-lidded eyes. Coran pulled his hand away with a blush, as he placed it on the stone bench between them. He noticed that Lance placed his just beside Coran, so that their fingertips nearly touched, and Coran – with a spark of warmth from the intimacy – inched his finger closer until they finally connected. Lance laughed silently, as he moved his hand in turn, and let his finger entwine with that of Coran.

“Some people would say that’s a bad thing,” said Lance.

“Some people don’t know the real meaning of worth,” chirped Coran. “There’s no shame in being depressed. There’s no shame in losing the battle, either. If you think about it in another way, you’ve come a lot further than Keith _or_ Hunk! They didn’t have the same disadvantages to overcome, but you -? You fought twice as hard and _still_ came though a success!”

“I don’t know about _that_ , but I do know I can’t thank you enough.” Lance nudged him with his shoulder and gave a wink. “You supported me this whole time. You know what it’s like to be homesick, to feel insecure and doubt yourself, and you know what it’s like to just . . . I don’t know . . . be human, I guess. You helped me get back on my feet, but – more than that – you became my closest friend. I just love being with you. I love . . . _you_.”

“Ah, you should be careful what you say, lad! I might think you mean something a little deeper.” Coran swallowed hard and felt his heart race. “I – er – have to admit that the sentiment is much returned. I feel very dearly for you . . . maybe more than I should.”

“Okay, well, that’s cool! You love me, too, right?”

Coran blinked away his surprise. He looked Lance over with a blush; he struggled to meet Lance’s eyes, but Lance struggled to meet his eyes in turn, and the two of them – red cheeks, gnawed lips – looked down to their hands with a sudden sense of awkwardness. It was difficult to dare hope for something more. He wanted nothing more than to take Lance in his arms and confess every emotion, but he feared that the younger man only loved him in a platonic sense. There was an age difference between them.

“I – ah – you -?” Coran gulped. “What?”

Lance smiled and moved his hand. He took a hold of Coran, holding his hand with a firm yet gentle touch, and intertwined their fingers in a warm union. Coran blinked away tears; he wished that he had foregone the gloves, so as to increase the intimacy of the touch, but here the man he loved held his hand and wanted his companionship. Lance squeezed, as he leaned his head on Coran’s shoulder. There was a rich scent of perfumed shampoos.

The breeze picked up speed, creating intricate patterns across the lake. Coran watched with a curious interest, as he leaned his head against Lance’s and let the brown locks tickle against his nose, and – as he drew in a deep breath – he fought away the tears of relief. He lifted an arm and draped it around those shoulders. Lance chuckled softly to himself, as he nuzzled into the hold, and Coran pulled him ever closer with a smile in turn. They sat together in a comfortable quiet, until Lance spoke in a low and gentle voice:

“I love you, Coran.”

Coran sniffed and buried his head into those brown locks. He tried to hide his tears, as he closed his eyes and felt his heart race within his chest. Lance traced patterns on the back of his hand with a lazy movement of his thumb, while the breeze cooled their warm skin, and – when Coran finally opened his eyes – he looked to the balcony of Shiro. He saw Sendak give him a thumb up and laughed, as he pulled back with another sniff. Coran whispered:

“I was supposed to say that first.”

“Well, I beat you to it.” Lance laughed and squeezed his hand. “I know I still have a while to go for a full recovery, but I really do love you, Coran. If you would do me the honour, I want to make this journey with you by my side. I – er – just thought . . . well . . . I wouldn’t mind going on a date sometime, you know? My treat! If you want, that is.”

“Of course I want a date, lad!” Coran pressed a kiss to his head. “I’d have to be insane not to want to spend more time with a chap like you! I just wish I’d asked you sooner, but I didn’t think for a moment that you’d ever say ‘yes’. I love you, too, Lance.”

“So this is it? We’re a couple? We can be together?”

Coran pulled back enough to take Lance’s hand. He brought the back of his hand to his lips, where he placed a chaste kiss in hopes of making a romantic gesture, and – in turn – Lance flushed a bright red and froze for a few seconds. Coran almost worried that he had acted out of turn, until Lance raised his free hand and stroked the cheek of his new boyfriend. He nuzzled into the touch and smiled as he whispered:

“Together forever.”


End file.
